


You're Drunk, Bellamy, Don't Go Home

by centuriespsycho



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Bellarke, The 100 - Freeform, bellamy and clarke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centuriespsycho/pseuds/centuriespsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I've seen plenty of fanfics with a drunk Clarke and responsible Bellamy but what about the other way around? Just a lil something I threw together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Drunk, Bellamy, Don't Go Home

**Author's Note:**

> Another fanfic written late at night because I find Bellarke sexy and something I enjoy more than my own life  
> i really need to pee rn too  
> *sorry for any mistakes I tried ^_^

Clarke awoke to several thunderous poundings on her door. She was so startled she fell off her bed and landed with a thud. She got up, rubbed her now aching hip and glanced at her alarm clock; it was 2:09 in the morning. Clarke was overwhelmed with a feeling of angst and fear. Who would be at her door this early?  
Whoever was kept hitting it relentlessly. “Clarke!” yelled a deep gruff voice. Clarke pulled on a sweatshirt because it was winter and cold as hell and she’d have to leave her warm comfortable bed which annoyed her immensely. She ran to the door, not even bothering to look at who it was. She knew who it was just by his voice. And she also knew he was drunk.  
She took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob and opened the apartment door slowly to find a pale and unsteady Bellamy. He was leaning on the door’s outer frame. “Bell,” Clarke said wiping the sleep from her eyes. “Are you hurt? Come inside,” she said softly while guiding him to the couch. Bellamy nodded his head up and down and then horizontally, changing his mind. “I need your help,” he slurred. He plopped down on the couch and she sat next to him, checking him for any wounds. Luckily he was fine. “You’re trashed,” she laughed.  
He kept his mouth in a straight line. His eyes were heavy and tired. “I can’t find Octavia.” Clarke cringed, which confused Bellamy as she pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket. She started looking at her messages and Bellamy was astounded. His sister- Clarke’s friend- was missing and Clarke was playing on her phone. At least that’s what he saw. “Princess, my sister’s gone,” his voice got louder. “It’s okay, Bell,” she mumbled, still scrolling through her messages. He repeated it again. Clarke let out a noise of relief and showed him her phone. “She’s out with Lincoln, Bell. You feel better now?” He read the messages, which consisted of Octavia going on and on about how Lincoln was absolutely amazing and how she was going to stay the night at his apartment.  
Bellamy furrowed his brows. “Why is there a winky face after all those…” he wondered like a clueless child. Clarke shook her head. “She’s a big girl, Bellamy.” His sudden realization of what his innocent little sister and Lincoln were doing showed. He looked terrified and enraged. “I’ll kill him.” Clarke got up to get Bellamy a blanket and pillow. “They’re engaged, Bellamy,” she said while resting a pillow under his head. “God, lay down,” she whined as she practically forced him to sprawl out on the couch.  
He pushed her away gently. “I’m not sleeping over,” he said. His voice was scary. Dangerously serious. You would almost think he was sober. Almost. Clarke rolled her eyes. “Bullshit,” she argued. She paused for a moment. “How did you even get here?” Bellamy didn’t say anything; he just bit his lip and went to stand up. Clarke stared him down and he gave up. “Finn,” he mumbled. Of course he was out drinking with Finn the night after Clarke discovered Finn had been cheating on her. “He wishes you the best,” he added, giving a sincere smile.  
“I wish I’d never met him,” she let slip out, and Bellamy’s eyes widened. “Is that bad to say?” Bellamy chuckled. “Not at all, Princess. He’s an asshole for not realizing what he had.” Clarke smiled. “You should get some sleep, Bellamy,” she said tiredly. “I will when I get home,” he said under his breath. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. She scoffed. “For now, pretend this is home. I’m not letting you go. You can’t even stay awake.”  
Bellamy tossed the blanket off his lap and strode over to the door. Clarke grabbed his arm. He tried to pull it from her and open the door but her grip was secure. He ended up pulling her closer, until their faces were centimeters apart and he was staring into her eyes.  
“Don’t leave,” she whispered. Their lips crashed together moments after as he pushed her up against the door. “You’re not taking advantage of me because I’m drunk, are you?” he smirked. God, she loved that sexy smirk of his.  
“Of course not,” she breathed into him. “I’m just trying to get you to sleep.” He started to kiss down her neck and she moaned. “I’ll do whatever you want, Princess.” She put her arms around his neck. “Then sleep.” He groaned and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist tightly. Clarke wondered how he could manage that- before he couldn’t walk straight. “You’re such a tease.” Clarke giggled. “Let’s go to my bed… So we can sleep,” she yawned. Bellamy had no objections. “Whatever you want, Princess. I’m exhausted.”  
It turns out Bellamy didn’t regret staying with Clarke. He actually enjoyed her warmth and how she felt curled up in his arms against his chest. But he still wanted to murder Lincoln.


End file.
